


too much ends in smoke

by smolstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Demonic Possession, Drugs, Horror, M/M, Mental Health Issues, i don’t know how to tag the mess that is possession, kind of???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolstiel/pseuds/smolstiel
Summary: Ty’s used to zoning out at the worst possible times, but this is different.
Relationships: Demon Possessing Tyson Brady/Sam Winchester, Real Tyson Brady/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	too much ends in smoke

**Author's Note:**

> i’ll give you one guess where the prompt for this came from. 
> 
> (here’s a hint if you’re new: it’s the boyking bitches discord server.)

Things get fuzzy in the middle of orientation. Ty’s used to zoning out at the worst possible times, but this is different. A guy settles next to him with a duffel, warm brown eyes and a smile, and he holds out his hand. He introduces himself, I’m Dan, or I’m Cam, or some name like that, but he doesn’t remember taking his hand. There’s a rush of black around the edges of his vision, and then he doesn’t remember anything until they’re both in a tiny white-walled dorm room.

The guy’s name is on the sheet of paper Ty is holding. _Sam Winchester._ They’re roommates now. All his stuff is here, and his parents are gone. He doesn’t remember saying goodbye. Sam’s unpacking his duffel. _Is that all you have?_ Ty asks. He doesn’t mean to. _Don’t worry. We’ll change that._ Sam pauses for a moment, but he doesn’t answer, so Ty kicks himself and shuts up. He clearly doesn’t need to be zoned out to say stupid shit. 

Next week is rush, and he tries some kind of yellow pill, washes it down with beer. Then there’s nothing until morning. Or, 2:37 actually. The red readout isn’t worth the assault on his eyes, so he rolls over and faceplants the pillow. It tastes like vomit. Sam’s gone. Probably at class. It’s 3:21 before he finally sits up and gets a shower. He stares as red sluices off his body and swirls down the drain. There’s not a mark anywhere on him, and a few minutes later, whatever was on his body is gone. Must still be high, he concludes, and stumbles to the minifridge for a late afternoon breakfast. It’s two weeks later when he changes his sheets, and he decides, with a racing heart, to ignore the brownish dried streaks. 

Ty misses an entire day the next week, but it was only a Monday, and he didn’t really want to sit through biology anyway. There’s this tiny nagging voice in his brain that’s urging him to ignore it. If this turns out to be some rare disease, or a brain tumor, _or, maybe you’re just going fucking crazy,_ he’d have to drop a semester at least. He’d lose all his scholarships, all his honors, there wouldn’t be anything left. They’d all hate him. _And besides, you don’t want to lose Sam, do you?_ No. He doesn’t want to lose Sam. What? Ah, Jesus. He’s going to bed. 

The next morning he wakes up drenched in blood. He hurriedly washes and drives straight to the urgent care. He’s not really sure what he’s doing here. It feels wrong, there’s a hissing displeasure in the back of his mind. _We have class, and what will Sam say?_ Ty isn’t sure why he’s so obsessed with Sam lately and it bothers him. 

The nurse is nice-looking, a redhead, with one of those smiles that looks like she knows something you don’t. She takes his pulse and asks his blood type. A negative, he says, and she nods. 

Good, she says. It’s a little more sugary than most blood, did you know that? A little sweeter. She giggles. 

I’ve been hearing voices, and I’m scared, Ty can’t force out. Please. I’m so scared.

Something burns in his brain, and the nurse only smirks. She blinks — her eyes go black. She says, Don’t worry, sugar. He won’t hurt you. It’s Sam you want to worry about. 

The static in his head dissipates again and it’s dark, he’s somewhere cloistered and it smells like sweat. Half a step back and a mop head brushes against his neck. There’s something in here with him, something big. Sam, and there’s a soft shudder. He’s not sure whose it is. _Let me worship you,_ and no no no Ty’s pretty sure he isn’t gay, not for Sam, there’s too much warmth — 

He’s in bed. The sheets are hot and sticky, and Sam is wrapped around him. Ty carefully untangles himself (more red? no, no) and pukes in the toilet. It’s yellow. He thinks that’s bad. The flush wakes Sam up, he appears in the doorway with those soft eyes and so much worry. 

Something’s wrong with me, Ty says. My head is burning. Then he falls. 

He’s at the hospital. Sam is hovering, something about substance abuse counseling, but Ty only remembers the yellow pill. His hand is all covered with Sam’s, it’s going to be okay. Maybe he is gay. _Maybe you have a blood kink too._

Ty can’t go to counseling. He tries, but he drives right past the building, blacks out and wakes up in some girl’s bed. He’s not even the one dating Sam and he feels guilty enough to shrivel away. 

Sam moves out. He has a new girlfriend two weeks later. Her name is Jess and the ugly thing in Ty’s head kills blondes that look like her at least once a month. Ty isn’t sure it’s jealousy. It feels more like practice. 

Jess is nice. Sam is nicer, lets Ty hang around sometimes despite everything. He doesn’t have a voice anymore, it talks for him, but it’s nice to see Sam. It’s a start. 

The thing is washing blood off the kitchen knives again. _Would you rather I put you out of your misery?_ the thing asks. It seems almost sincere. Ty thinks its a little ashamed of itself sometimes, with a witness, but only a little. Not enough. No, Ty wants to watch. He doesn’t believe the thing when it says warm, kind Sam will become a monster. 

Ty takes a risk and asks, What about a bet? If Sam stays good, and kind, then I can have my body back. If the thing is right and Sam really does break and start hurting people like that, then you can have my body forever. No takebacks.

A mulling over. _It’s not really your body to give._ It’s not really the thing’s either, is it? 

The thing is thinking really hard, too hard. It burns. _Alright,_ it says over the rush of static. _You’ve got yourself a deal, kid._

Ty goes under.


End file.
